


Egotrap

by blackazuresoul



Series: Twisted Tales Series [1]
Category: Trinity Blood
Genre: First Time, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-27
Updated: 2012-10-27
Packaged: 2017-11-17 03:24:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,233
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/547112
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackazuresoul/pseuds/blackazuresoul
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dietrich fights against being regarded as a child and when he is snubbed, he spins a yarn to pass the time; until Isaak reveals the true and decidedly more interesting conclusion. The newly-christened Marionettenspieler will never be the same.</p><p>A/N: First in the Twisted Tales series. *** Contains young Dietrich and although fourteen is the age of legal consent in Germany, I don’t wish to split hairs. You have been warned! ***</p>
            </blockquote>





	Egotrap

The rally was a sight to see. Hundreds had stood to witness the Rosenkreuz Orden’s pomp and, from what Dietrich could see while standing on the dais, several had queued up to join their ranks. He hated crowds and being told to ‘stand still’ by Isaak. Earlier on, Isaak had overseen Dietrich’s entire toilet– making sure his uniform was just so, griping that he’d soon need another one as the trouser hems were dangerously approaching _flood_ stage. He then finally grabbed a container of pomade and slicked the boy’s hair back with a comb when the unruly mess wouldn’t tame itself to his liking. Dietrich had complained that his hair looked terrible like that but Isaak dismissed it and straightened the teen’s tie, murmuring that– in his opinion– fourteen year-olds should be banned, or at least banished to a cupboard somewhere until they reach majority.  
  
The exclusive reception afterwards was worse.  
  
People were amazed at the youngest member of the Orden and patted him on the head, which Dietrich loathed. Contrived smiles were passed around and old ladies with their cloying perfumes and mannerisms pinched his cheeks, praising his mentor for bringing up such a fine lad. Isaak took it all with refined grace and laid a hand on Dietrich’s shoulder. He had to smirk. If these fools knew this _sweet boy_ at all, they would not be so generous with their flattery.  
  
After passing the requisite tests the week prior, Dietrich had received his new rank; yet another thing to correct on his uniform and though Isaak was superficially proud of his protégé, a closer eye would need to be kept on him. As he had suspected, Dietrich proved to be highly intelligent for his age and had surpassed most of the Orden’s upper echelon– much to their collective chagrin. Since then, the boy had been insufferable, as if he felt it his signal privilege to see-saw between being a brat and taunting Isaak with sophomoric attempts at what could loosely be construed as seduction.  
  
During the reception, Isaak had relegated Dietrich to the fruit punch, rebuffing his pleas for a taste of champagne. Excusing himself from one of the guests, Isaak found his charge stationed at the refreshment table, polishing off several frosted bisquits. “You’re going to spoil your appetite, my dear,” he chided and put a hand to the teen’s back, steering him past the sweets.  
  
“But I’m hungry,” Dietrich groaned then employed the back of his gloved right hand to wipe his mouth. Isaak smacked it away and abruptly shepherded him into an empty parlour. Once they reached the dimly lit room, the magician glared down at him.  
  
“Alright. Just what the hell is your problem tonight, Dietrich?” he hissed and the boy leaned against a flocked wall, his hands in his pockets. His eyes followed a fold in the velvet curtain that was drawn from the entryway in which they stood then shot back to Isaak when he added: “Answer me!”  
  
“I’m bored, Isaak!” Dietrich countered and Isaak rolled his eyes.  
  
“You wanted to be a member of the Orden so badly. Things like this are a necessary part of one’s duties. Deal with it, boy!” Isaak replied sharply.  
  
”Well, it was your stupid idea, anyway,” Dietrich droned. It hurt to have to crane his head to look at his mentor but the mild discomfort was forgotten as Isaak’s hand firmly clamped his jaw. The various accolades on the raven’s jacket softly tinkled with the movement and Dietrich had no choice but to meet the darkened grey above him.  
  
“We have investors out there, Dietrich, and I am not about to have a nauseatingly fractious adolescent fuck it up.” Isaak’s eyes conveyed his displeasure but the teen frowned as he pressed his argument.  
  
“I _told_ you, I’m bored. And I’m hungry!” Dietrich ground between his teeth, his expression intractable. Isaak wanted for the world to explain to him in painful ways why it was a good idea to mind him, but he didn’t want the questions that would surely fly when the boy came back to the company wearing colourful badges of corrected insolence– the pleasing contrast, notwithstanding.  
  
“And I told _you_ to deal with it.” Isaak tipped Dietrich’s chin higher. “Dinner will be served soon and I expect decorum.” The mage quirked a brow and amended himself. “No, I _demand_ it! Do you understand me?”  
  
“Yes, Sir,” the teen reluctantly replied and Isaak loosened his grip, sliding a single finger beneath Dietrich’s chin, a poisonous smile rising on thin lips.  
  
“Anything else? Or can we consider this tedious conversation closed?”  
  
  
The formal dinner had taken an hour longer that Dietrich thought it should. Fifteen minutes between courses seemed like forever and when the appetiser arrived, he’d finished it before everyone else. It was all Isaak’s fault, anyway. Lunch had been a quick cheese roll on the go while Dietrich got dragged along on various errands. Occasionally, Isaak’s gaze would shift to his right, ensuring his protégé was using the proper fork and actually eating what was on his plate, rather than pushing it about. By the time coffee was served, though, the boy was getting restless.  
  
Dietrich doctored the beverage to his liking then took it down in one go, prepared to ask if he might be excused from the table. An attentive waiter stole the words from his mouth and before he was able to decline, a silver pot refilled his cup. “Damn it,” he mumbled to himself, intending to leave the china vessel where it stood perched on its delicate saucer but thin fingers discretely slid the sugar bowl closer to him. Dietrich looked askance at his mentor and Isaak spared him a hint of a smile.  
  
“Two cubes only, Liebling,” he quietly directed. “You’ve had quite enough sugar this evening.” Dietrich nodded and dropped them into his coffee, then a third when Isaak was engaged in conversation with the man at his left. All the stuffy people around Dietrich were wearing on him. Even Cain, with his bright smile, laughing eyes and crisp uniform were a pretty mask. Of course he would never let the masses see his creepy leers or the way he’d lounge about in a state of undress, something Dietrich had come to believe over the years the man did on purpose. Lately, Cain had engaged in a lewd sort of catechism with him when Isaak would leave the room, his seemingly innocent queries running the gamut from had he started masturbating yet to whether or not Isaak had fucked him; a point to which the Crusnik revisited with increasing frequency. As Dietrich sipped his coffee, eyes still on Cain, he recalled another blandly delivered aside Mein Herr had purred from his velvet chaise:  
  
 _Are you aware that he’s shown incredible control over these seven years, childe? I’ve seen it in his eyes– the restraint and the raw want to tear you apart…_  
  
He shivered with the memory, not because it was new information; it certainly wasn’t. He’d known for years that the occasional glance or wolfish smile was an external manifestation of scenarios that played through Isaak’s head. Hell, at times he’d encouraged it– in retrospect– but he did wonder why Cain wanted to know so badly, though Dietrich had quickly disabused himself of the notion that the Crusnik would lose interest in the affairs of his precious Panzermagier.  
  
The tedious after-dinner activities were an exercise in repudiation as far as Dietrich was concerned. Isaak ignored him and everyone’s focus shifted to shoring up contacts and kissing Cain’s holy ass. Even the other officers of the Orden paid Dietrich no attention, despite his best efforts; so he snuck away. He avoided the grande staircase in the foyer of the mansion, opting to take the servants’ route via the back stairs. Once on the second floor, he crossed deep red carpet to the carved door of Isaak’s personal suite. A bent pin Dietrich had pinched from Helga made quick work of the lock and he slid into the darkened study.  
  
At the mahogany sideboard, the teen switched on a lamp, warming the polished surface in a muted red glow. A smile teased Dietrich’s lips as he ran a fingertip over the decanter of Isaak’s most coveted _Carlos I_ brandy, then onto the _Schladerer Kirschwasser_ , and rounded over the smooth stopper of an unlabeled dark wine. He pulled off his gloves and selected a glass, poured a scant amount of wine into the wide bowl then raised it to his lips. Dietrich’s face screwed up and he shook his head at the dryness of the alcohol and moved onto the next offering.  
  
The Kirschwasser was better but too sweet and he ran his tongue over his teeth, trying to rid them of the aftertaste. Finally, the brandy sloshed into his glass from its heavy decanter and Dietrich employed two hands to ensure it got into the glass then recapped the container. He sniffed the amber liquid and its sensual aroma toyed with his senses. Dietrich took a sip and a light shiver danced down his spine as the warmth spread from his stomach.  
  
Snifter in hand, the teen crossed the study to Isaak’s tidy desk. Dietrich lowered himself into the highback leather chair with a satisfied smile, taking the private opportunity to affect an Isaak-like pose before he leaned back and propped crossed feet onto the corner of the furniture but they didn’t remain long. He sat up properly to try the drawers of the desk, finding most of them locked though when he pulled on the bottom right drawer, it smoothly slid open.  
  
Dietrich leaned over to see several packs of cigarillos stacked according to flavour, the embossed tins prompting him to run a finger over rampant lion crests and script lettering. He pulled out a box of the clove-flavoured and took a moment to turn the thin case over in his hands, then opened it. Inside, black paper sticks lay in a row and a dark goldtone band encircled each filter. Caramel eyes looked at the desktop and deviously narrowed when they spied the fancy table lighter to the left of the in/out box.  
  
Selecting a cigarillo, Dietrich slowly ran it beneath his nose, a soft smile cresting with the sharp clove scent. He perched the filter end between his lips and reached for the lighter, striking it alight. The tiny orange flame caught the paper and Dietrich puffed to further burn into the tobacco, holding the perfumed smoke in his mouth to quickly exhale. It tasted exactly like it smelled and Dietrich set the lighter back in place on the desk then dragged the empty ashtray onto the immaculate blotter.  
  
His lips began to tingle, so he took another full gulp of the brandy; although that seemed to make it worse. Dietrich made a dissatisfied noise and, holding the cigarillo in the middle of the stick, gently tapped it on the side of the ashtray. The excess fell softly and he again put the smoke between his lips to take another puff. Dietrich drew in a breath and let the smoke flow into his lungs, which he promptly let out with a series of coughs. “How the fuck does he smoke this shit?” Dietrich asked the cigarillo and pressed it out into the ashtray then took another drink.  
  
The warmth was reaching even his toes and he tested the numbness of his lips, first with fingers then with the edge of his teeth. Dietrich set down the snifter and rose from the chair, only to put a hand to the corner of the desk when his vision swam. Once he had his bearings, Dietrich chuckled to himself and grabbed the glass to cross the large area rug. “God, it’s hot in here!” he exclaimed to Isaak’s beloved hand-woven rug beneath his feet then raised his gaze to the far wall.  
  
Dietrich had been in his mentor’s office at the Orden headquarters, but never had the opportunity to discover what lay behind the series of three doors that flanked the far wall, just opposite the fireplace. Of course, his imagination pinned all sorts of terrors to what the heavy doors kept secret. Magic portals to Hell, torture devices and quite possibly skeletons of all of the people that pissed Isaak off had run though his head at various times.  
  
Carefully holding onto his glass, Dietrich approached the left door and extended a hand to rest on the fancy knob. The coolness of the metal shocked him– given how warm the room felt– but he took a deep breath and pushed down the handle. It was unlocked and was whisper quiet on its hinges as he slowly pulled it open. Peering inside, Dietrich saw a row of hangers, all with Isaak’s uniform jackets hung on them, sorted by length. In the floor were neatly stacked shoe boxes and above on the shelf were what looked like hat boxes. The teen snickered into his snifter and turned away from the closet with a backwards kick to slam the door shut, having to catch himself from falling over in the process.  
  
He looked down into what remained in the snifter with a puzzled brow, surely Isaak would never allow his brandy to ‘go off’. Dietrich shrugged and looked at the two remaining doors. Opting for the one at the far right, he opened it and gasped at a face that stared back at him. He nearly dropped his glass and pressed a palm to the centre of his chest, face turned away from what lay behind the door. Slowly, Dietrich opened his eyes and dared to peek in again. The face was still there in the shadows and on closer inspection, he realised it was his own. The hand moved from his heart and he felt on the inside wall for a switch that illuminated the small room in a soft white light. “How stupid,” he breathed as his eyes took in the ensuite, with its brass fixtures and stark white towels that had the Orden sigil emblazoned near each hem. Dietrich stepped into the bathroom and met the mirror. His hair still looked terrible but now, because Isaak clearly liked to keep his office on _hell_ , his cheeks wore a light flush. The boy defiantly scrubbed a hand through his hair, two thick strands falling to frame his eyes, and he dismissively waved at his likeness.  
  
Finishing off the contents of the snifter, Dietrich moved on to the middle door. Perhaps this was the one that held the portal? The redhead swallowed the last of the brandy and bravely opened the door. The room was poorly lit and smelled of long-ago smoked tobacco and earthy spice. He stepped in and around the corner lay a bed done up in darktone linens with a heavy wood nighttable which housed an antique stained glass lamp that lent its minimal light to the room and he set his empty glass next to it. Dietrich walked to the window that sat behind thick curtains and drew one back. The window was a french door that led onto a small balcony, overlooking the centre courtyard of the mansion. He let the curtain slide back into place and ran his hand over the edge of the bed as he passed it, suddenly feeling sleepy. Had to be the heat, he thought.  
  
Dietrich unbuttoned his jacket and flung it over a nearby chair then loosened his tie, letting the ends hang on either side of his neck. He sat down on the bed, removed his boots, and laid back into the infinite comfort of both bed and pillow. “Only for a minute,” Dietrich quietly told the room. But the bed was so soft and he was so very tired and the room was beginning to spin. He closed his eyes and submitted to Hypnos.  
  
  
After a post-function meeting with Cain, Isaak left the suite in search of his protégé, anger creasing his brow. The boy would have much to answer for and Isaak was just in the mood to explain why Dietrich’s behaviour was beyond the pale. His office door was unlocked– which was unusual– and Isaak entered the room to find the lights on.  
  
The heavy scent of his clove cigarettes hung in the air and the mage’s brow further furrowed as he looked around. Grey eyes lit on the sideboard and he saw the decanters weren’t in their proper places. Tearing off his gloves, they then met the desk and Isaak arched a single brow at a barely smoked cigarillo in the ashtray. A tart smirk crept on his lips and he turned around to look for his wayward boy. “Dietrich!” he ground out between his teeth and not seeing him in the office, Isaak headed for the bedroom.  
  
As he came around the corner of the room, Isaak’s gaze fell on the sleeping form that lay in the middle of his bed. A strand of hair feathered over Dietrich’s right eye and his left hand was draped over his chest in perfect repose. “ ‘It is said that gifts persuade even the Gods.’– Euripides,” the magician quoted then saw the empty snifter on the nighttable and his expression fell. He pushed a section of hair from his shoulder and sat down on the edge of the bed. Deceptively smooth fingers brushed the cinnamon lock from Dietrich’s face then traced the sharp angle of his jaw. His hand loosely fit around the teen’s chin and gently turned his head left to right. “Dietrich,” Isaak called quietly, the action becoming more harsh. The mage then brought his hand up to swiftly smack him and Dietrich’s eyes shot open.  
  
“What the…Isaak!” he stammered and with his elbows, pushed himself toward the headboard, his eyes wide. “I’m sorry, I only meant to–“  
  
“Nevermind that,” Isaak said as he stood and glared down at his protégé. “What in the blue fuck are you playing at? Is this your idea of how an officer should conduct himself?” A thin finger pointed at Dietrich. “You decided to leave an important Orden function and for what– so you could break into my office, steal from me and invade my privacy?” Isaak accused then gestured. “Get up, boy!” he growled and watched Dietrich obey, albeit slowly, and his frown increased. “And you’re drunk. Perfect,” he blurted then grabbed the teen by his arm and stepped him out of the bedroom.  
  
“I am _not_!” Dietrich protested, though he did privately wonder why Isaak looked amazing when he was angry. He shook his head and let the man lead him into the office where he was unceremoniously dumped into the plush sofa. “Ow,” he idly remarked and his mentor’s glare was back as he towered over him. Isaak began considering what was going on and the corner of his lip twitched.  
  
“Perhaps I should call you _Goldilocks_ , ja?” he suggested with a dark smirk and Dietrich sent him a puzzled glance.  
  
“Sir?” Why in the hell was he feeling– feeling what? Smug? No, that wasn’t it.  
  
“Did I shun you at the party, prompting you to get your revenge for the slight on your person, Madam?” Isaak mocked then opened his cigarillo case, slid one between his lips and lit it. The thin stream of exhale ribboned from his lips and Dietrich watched how they parted to release the smoke. Isaak’s question filtered through the haze and Dietrich lounged into the back of the sofa.  
  
“I was bored, Isaak,” he drawled then dropped his gaze to fiddle with the end of his loose tie. Dietrich coyly peered up at his mentor through the strands of hair that framed his eyes. “Besides, nobody wants a kid around.” Isaak’s expression changed to a sort of dark amusement and he loosed a curt chuckle.  
  
“Translation: I wasn’t the centre of attention so I decided to act like the kid I loudly insist I’m not; most of the time,” the magician retorted then pointed at Dietrich, the cigarillo smouldering between his fingers. “Need I remind you that the rank you received last week can easily be altered to reflect this turn of events, Dietrich,” Isaak stated. “Since you’re just a kid and all. What a disappointment.” Caramel eyes went wide again and Dietrich shook his head, though it wasn’t such a good idea. He took a deep breath and reached for a measure of Isaak’s jacket, his eyes fixed on him.  
  
“No I…I just don’t care for crowds, that’s all,” he explained and looked askance at the cold fireplace then returned his gaze to Isaak. “I get kinda freaked out.” Isaak peeled Dietrich’s fingers from his jacket and let them drop before meeting his eyes.  
  
“You’d better get used to it, boy,” Isaak warned evenly and turned his back on the other to take a seat in one of the wingback chairs that flanked the fireplace. “You are an officer in this organisation, ranked near to most of the ones that have been here for years. Others aren’t going to like you simply because of that fact but something I can impart to you– and you had better remember this– is: keep your friends close, your enemies closer.” Isaak leaned back in his seat and took another puff off his cigarillo with a crooked smile then tapped the ash into a chrystal tray at his right. “Now that the mutual bullshit is over, you will be confined either to headquarters or our estate for time indeterminate,” he levelled and casually crossed his legs while his protégé processed what was said.  
  
Dietrich ran a hand through his hair and let his hand fall to the cushion beneath him then met Isaak’s eyes. “Did you just _ground_ me?” he asked with a cursory snicker, as if he was just told a joke. Isaak simply arched a brow in response and the teen’s knotted. “That’s not fair!” he blasted, his hands curling into fists at his side. Isaak took another draw off his smoke and licked his lower lip as he rolled the lit end against the interiour of the ashtray.  
  
“You say that so often, mein Schatz,” he related and rested his elbow on the arm of the chair. “I’m curious as to what is your basis for comparison.” The frown melted from Dietrich’s forehead and he scooted himself into the corner of the sofa, one foot on the floor and the other knee bent to lay on the cushion next to him. He tried on Isaak’s method of a one-brow answer and the mage extinguished his cigarillo then turned his eyes back to the youth.  
  
“You wish to say something in your defense?” he purred and folded his hands to rest on his crossed knee. “I’m all ears.” Dietrich’s mouth tightened then loosened to speak and his fingers idly played with his silk tie.  
  
“What if Mein Herr sends me on a mission?” he asked and was about to continue, when Isaak cut him off.  
  
“Excuse me,” he sharply interjected and Dietrich looked around the room then back at his mentor, dazed.  
  
“What?”  
  
“Are you _offering_ something, Liebling; or are you just ill-mannered?” Isaak’s fingers moved in their fold then stilled and Dietrich cocked his head but a breathy giggle left his lips before he could catch it.  
  
“Whaat?” he drawled and looked down at himself, wondering what his mentor could possibly be referring to. Shaky fingers picked at his shirt front, his tie, then flattened the shirt material to peer down at his trousers– no gravy in sight. “What did I do?” Isaak’s gaze traveled the lounging teen then raised to meet the confused eyes that stared back at him.  
  
“Do you normally sit like that when speaking with your superiours, Dietrich?” Isaak asked, then addressed the redhead’s earlier question. “And no, there is nothing slated for you in the foreseeable future.” The mage then lit another cigarillo and the sound of his zippo clicked as he shut it. “You need to learn that, contrary to what you may believe, the world most certainly does _not_ revolve around you, childe.”  
  
“I know,” Dietrich softly replied and while he had his head bowed, the cotton in his brain parted enough to concoct several plausible scenarios he could try on the raven. It worked before! A certain glance or a well-placed pout had netted him advantage in the past– both with strangers and on occasion, Isaak. Grounding wasn’t an option, as far as Dietrich was concerned. The teen raised his head to peer through his hair and softly bit his lip. “I apologise for my behaviour, Meister,” he began and altered his posture on the sofa, both feet on the floor and offered Isaak a sheepish smile.  
  
Behind closed lips, Isaak ran his tongue along his upper teeth then parted them to take another puff off his cigarillo and watched Dietrich slide off the sofa to approach him. The way his narrow hips softly swayed with each step was enchanting and the ribald smile the youth wore complimented the drink-induced tint to his cheeks. Isaak laid his smoke on the edge of the ashtray and uncrossed his legs just before Dietrich straddled his lap. He lowered to sit on Isaak’s thighs and put hands to the raven’s shoulders. “I wish I could believe you, my pet. But I hear ‘I’m sorry’ so much from these lips,” he murmured and traced them with the tip of his finger. Dietrich stole a kiss to the pad before Isaak moved it and dark lashes fell to shade the boy’s eyes.  
  
“I am, Herr,” Dietrich affirmed and neared Isaak’s lips with his own. “I truly am,” he added against the scented flesh. The tip of Dietrich’s tongue flirted with Isaak’s lower lip and a fist in his hair quickly pulled them away. Eyes met in the closeness and Isaak held his gaze for a tense moment.  
  
“What have I told you about doing that, Dietrich?” he breathed, trying to maintain his cool façade; though beneath the trappings of office, Isaak’s body rapidly became fine-tuned to the lures of his protégé. Dietrich’s hands mapped over the front of Isaak’s jacket, a single finger then tracing down the series of silver buttons.  
  
“Maybe I wanted to,” he whispered and Isaak let go of his hair to capture the wandering hand.  
  
“You couldn’t possibly know the implications,” he said, pretending a lump wasn’t forming in his throat and that his trousers weren’t becoming unbearably tight. It wasn’t the first time the boy had inflamed his lust but recently, Isaak had concluded that perhaps Dietrich knew _exactly_ what he was doing. The teen had a gift for seduction and sexual awakening would only serve to add another facet to the jewel that was Dietrich’s charm. “Devil,” Isaak said sotto voce, though not meaning to and, judging by the lazy smile that hung on the redhead’s lips, the aside was read loud and clear.  
  
“So, how does this faerie tale end, Meister? Does Goldilocks escape or do the bears eat her up?” he asked as he sat further back on his mentor’s lap with an angelic grin. Isaak was taken aback by the question but that was generously salted with the want to either slap that damned grin off Dietrich’s face or to bruise his lips with the desire to sample the sweet poison he knew he’d find within the boy’s mouth.  
  
“Ah, the sanitised ending,” he commented and fingered a lock of hair away from Dietrich’s face. “Purposed to keep children suitably chastised against the perils of wrongdoing, yet soft enough to safeguard their fragile little minds.” The strand was tucked behind an ear and Isaak’s finger drew along Dietrich’s soft cheek. “So very diluted,” he opined and Dietrich cocked his head.  
  
“Then how did the original end? Did she die?”  
  
“Depends on your point of view,” Isaak replied and set about opening the front of Dietrich’s shirt. He pushed the hems to the side, revealing the teen’s smooth chest. “The difference between literal and figurative terms,” he clarified then raised his eyes. Dietrich quietly gasped as he felt Isaak’s hand fit between his legs to cup him, but the torment continued when the thumb slowly ran along his clothed hardness.  
  
The corner of Isaak’s mouth barely twitched when Dietrich’s eyes shaded with the touches he imparted. The boy was prime, delightfully propitious; and the lone thorn in this wicked garden was that Dietrich knew it. After all the years Isaak had spent in ofttimes Herculean forbearance, borne of a twisted notion that he was preserving a delicate snowflake of a child from the wiles of a lusty, old mage– it was time to fully awaken Dietrich’s concupiscent potential. And Isaak was acutely aware that it could very well be the worst decision he would ever make.  
  
“Will you tell me?” Dietrich quietly asked and coyly chewed his lip as he shifted his hips against Isaak’s hand. He toyed with a strand of his mentor’s hair then watched it flow like black silk through his fingertips and met a stormy grey gaze. Isaak removed his hand from between Dietrich’s legs and again captured his hand.  
  
“I prefer to show you,” he replied and kissed the tips of the boy’s fingers. He let them drop and reached for his cigarillo. Taking a few puffs to set the tobacco alight, he exhaled toward the ceiling then leered at his protégé. “Once the bears had her in their grasp, they sought to rid themselves of her forever. But sometimes as much as you want someone to go away they tend to always turn up again, don’t they?” Isaak began and painted an imaginary line down the centre of Dietrich’s bared chest.  
  
Dietrich listened as intently as his cotton candy brain would allow but he liked the way his nipples peaked when Isaak touched him and all he could focus on was the way the man’s lips moved when he spoke and the flashes of fangs beneath the blush flesh. What would it feel like to be bitten by him? To have his blood fuel the magician’s many hungers and to see those lips slick with it around his deadly grin? The thought sent a shiver down Dietrich’s spine and his cock throbbed, letting him know in no uncertain terms that it would be a most welcome advance.  
  
“ ‘On the fire they throw her…’,” Isaak purred and the glowing tip of his cigarillo followed the path his finger had taken, close to Dietrich’s skin. The teen’s eyes fell to watch the burning stick, his hands flying up to take hold of Isaak’s shoulders. His breath went shallow.  
  
“Meister!” he loudly whispered, afraid Isaak would burn him. The end mimicked the circle of his navel and Dietrich sucked in further to the tune of the raven’s chuckle. The cigarillo then moved away to again fit between Isaak’s lips for one last draw before its demise in the ashtray. Isaak exhaled the sweet smoke and licked his lower lip of the clove oil deposited there.  
  
“ ‘But burn her they couldn’t’,” he resumed and Dietrich let out the breath he didn’t realise he was holding, letting his fingertips trail down the mage’s chest. “ ‘In the water they put her…’ “ Isaak’s hand trailed up Dietrich’s back and fisted the loose collar of his shirt, drawing the material tight against the nape of his neck then crushed their lips together. His tongue plundered the warm velvet of the boy’s mouth, coaxing its like to follow the dance. Dietrich moaned into Isaak’s mouth and his fingers curled into the man’s jacket.  
  
The kiss deepened and Isaak’s free hand crept around the redhead’s slender waist to cup his backside, pulling him closer. When Dietrich’s hips pushed against his own, Isaak growled into his mouth and abruptly broke the kiss. He watched the boy regain his breath and lick his swollen lips but when caramel eyes lifted to lock on his own with an impish grin, Isaak knew the brat was far from overcome. “ ‘But drown there she wouldn’t,’ ” he admitted on a breath and a black brow arched when Dietrich shrugged and smaller hands set about unbuttoning Isaak’s jacket. The magician’s fist released the back of the shirt in favour of a handfull of cinnamon hair. “You are playing with fire, Dietrich Engel von Lohengrin,” he bluntly warned and the teen scoffed– as he always had– at the appointed middle name, then closed the distance to reply against Isaak’s lips.  
  
“Of course I am,” he affirmed and pressed a feathery kiss along the scented flesh, which was then traded for an insistent albeit inexperienced press. The mélange of tobacco, clove and expensive brandy were shared between them and Isaak thought the cocktail a pleasing one, with just a hint of the _Gu_ poison he was convinced Dietrich possessed in abundance. Isaak was all-too familiar with that particular magic and he smiled into the kiss, believing himself able to become reasonably immune– if only to sever any delusions of conquest the boy might thereafter foolishly concoct.  
  
Isaak ended the kiss and moved Dietrich to his feet then rose himself. He looked down on the teen and slid a finger beneath his chin to raise his bewitching gaze. “Fire is never a gentle master, my dear,” Isaak shared with a dark smile then stepped away from Dietrich to pour a brandy and finished unbuttoning his jacket, laying it over the back of the chair he’d vacated. Thin fingers sifted through Dietrich’s hair and the boy felt a jolt race down his spine when Isaak’s hand fell to his back as he directed him toward the bedroom.  
  
  
Dietrich stared at the lushly attired bed and bit his lip. His head had cleared a little more and his nerves were hoisting a coup. He knew enough about sex for him to desire to experience it and he had known for a long time that he wanted it with Isaak, but he was apprehensive, nonetheless. He told himself that his mentor hadn’t specifically said anything about the reasons why they’d ended up in the bedroom, but it was obvious to him that– given the states of their mutual arousal– it was the inevitable conclusion to the game he, Dietrich, had started.  
  
Isaak’s hand arced along Dietrich’s upper back as he stepped to the teen’s side and peered down at him. “Something troubling you?” he asked and let a smirk momentarily ghost across his face. “Where’s my audacious little smart-ass from earlier, hmm?” The raven’s free hand pushed Dietrich’s open shirt off his shoulders and let it fall to the floor. The tip of his tongue flirted with one of his fangs and Isaak observed the boy’s arms raising, likely to cover himself but Dietrich had laid an arm along his own waist and snatched the snifter from the man.  
  
“Didn’t you tell me that it’s rude to not offer a drink when you pour one for yourself, Meister?” he purred and tipped the glass up to take a healthy sip of the brandy. Isaak snorted quietly and shook his head.  
  
“You’ve already helped yourself to that which doesn’t belong to you,” he retorted and reclaimed the snifter from Dietrich’s hand. “You should be ashamed.” Isaak set the glass next to the abandoned one on the nighttable and took a seat on the bed. As he removed his Orden crest cufflinks, Dietrich smiled and put hands to his own belt, finding the courage contained within the snifter.  
  
“And so should you, Isaak,” he opined and when storm grey lifted, it was greeted by an impish moue. Dietrich let the tails of his belt hang from the loops of his trousers as he tsked his mentor. “But I don’t mind.” He coyly cocked his head and took a step to lay hands on Isaak’s knees, bending to look into the man’s eyes. “Cain told me about how you’ve wanted me. Keeps asking if you’ve fucked me yet–“  
  
“Dietrich,” Isaak cautioned with an even countenance but the teen stood between his legs and made quick work of his shirt buttons and when the magician’s chest was revealed, caramel eyes dropped to follow his hands along the smooth planes.  
  
“So why haven’t you, Panzermagier?” Dietrich asked and softly bit the tip of his own tongue, his fingertips tingling. It was a fair question, Isaak reasoned and slipped the garment from his arms. The boy was trying his damndest to get under his skin, but that was nothing novel; though the difference was that Dietrich now had a weapon with which to worm his way in that didn’t necessarily involve childish pouts. Isaak slid the teen’s trousers from him and his gaze roved over Dietrich’s nude form. He knew every inch of the boy– every freckle and careless scar– but when viewed through the bloom of budding sexuality, the raven found him even more lovely. His _Puer Delicatus_.  
  
“ ‘He that can have Patience, can have what he will’,” Isaak cited on a breath as his hands glided along Dietrich’s sides to rest on his hips. Dietrich peeked at him through his hair then stepped closer as his mentor’s thumbs caressed over the sharp juts of his hip bones in their loose hold and he cupped Isaak’s cheek.  
  
“Have you not also taught me that there is a time in which forbearance ceases to be a virtue, Herr?” Dietrich debated and Isaak’s brow elevated, along with the corner of his mouth.  
  
“Indeed, though perhaps I’m not as inclined to fuck an inebriated pain in the ass as I had anticipated,” he countered with a smirk and Dietrich’s face fell for a few beats, then budded anew with a sly smile. His hardness nudged against Isaak’s stomach when he took one more step towards the mage and Dietrich watched long black lashes shade the turbulent grey beneath them.  
  
“Shall I get dressed then, Meister?” he offered and gave the floor a cursory glance. “And you can tell me how they dealt with Goldilocks.” Isaak’s hands tightened around Dietrich’s hips and his eyes locked onto the teen’s as a toothy grin showcased the tips of his fangs in the soft light.  
  
“Lay down, Dietrich,” he commanded then moved the boy away from him and stood to pull back the bedding. “And I shall regale you with the horridly pleasurable conclusion.” Dietrich crawled into bed and he felt his cheeks burn while he watched Isaak undress. He had always thought the man beautiful– with his inky hair and striking eyes– but to see his bare flesh left him speechless. Dietrich schooled his expression and tried to banish the flush to his face, opting to stare at the muted pattern in the bedsheets.  
  
Isaak smirked at the top of Dietrich’s head then slid into the bed. He grabbed his glass of brandy, propping a hand beneath his head as he lay on his side. The boy’s demure blush was amusing and Isaak took a sip from the snifter, watching several emotions cloud Dietrich’s downturned face. First embarrassment then resolve and when his head tipped upward, those eyes held a devious glint in their depths and the devil’s smile was back. The magician was well-versed in Dietrich-speak and his ‘shrinking violet’ routine was priceless. “I’m not buying it, Dearest,” Isaak murmured and the teen blinked then let a breathy chuckle pass over his kiss-swollen lips. Elegant fingers carded through cinnamon tresses, around the shell of an ear and down the column of Dietrich’s pale throat. “My vestal trickster,” he purred.  
  
“Isaak,” Dietrich breathed and closed his eyes as he laid back against the soft pillow. The room began to spin so he opened them again and rolled onto his side with a brief giggle. Between them, Isaak held the glass to the mattress and Dietrich peered into it then dipped his finger in the amber liquid and slid the digit between his lips. Isaak bit back the groan that wanted to escape, a calming breath ridding him of the darker thoughts that fogged his brain– musings that bordered on the sadistic. He was tired of waiting, of playing the boy’s irritating game of catch-as-catch can and he was determined it would end with Dietrich’s sole remaining virtue being firmly in his possession. Isaak’s ponderings were then interrupted by the redhead’s melodious timbre. “What happened to Goldilocks?” he asked and the mage’s gaze lifted from his lips.  
  
“They impaled her, Schön,” Isaak quietly related, his hand skirting along Dietrich’s bare inner thigh. Gently, he nudged the limb to part slightly and his fingers skimmed through the sparse hair on the boy’s balls, drawing a gasp from Dietrich’s lips. His hand departed and eyes lazily rolled over to watch Isaak dip his index finger in the brandy. The teen licked his lips in anticipation of seeing it disappear between his mentor’s lips but instead saw the hand bypass them entirely. When the cool pad drew along the underside of his shaft, Dietrich’s hips arched upward as a moan broke free.  
  
Isaak smiled to himself and again dipped his finger into the glass, using it to lightly stir the brandy as he spoke. “ ‘They seize her before all the wondering People, and chuck her aloft on St. Paul's churchyard steeple..’, as the story goes,” he recited with a dangerous leer. “A fitting end, wouldn’t you say?” Dietrich’s eyes widened with the news and chewed his lip for a moment.  
  
“On the steeple?” he blurted and both brows elevated. “Brutal.” A moment of silence was observed as the idea simmered and he finally looked at the raven. “Are you gonna kill me?” Isaak couldn’t stifle the laugh that bulleted from his lips, though his grin did little to assuage his protégé.  
  
“Oh how very droll, Liebling,” Isaak casually replied and resumed stirring the brandy with his finger. “Do we not recall what I said earlier about one’s point of view?” The magician pursed his lips. “To you, _allegory_ is just a nonsensical word, isn’t it?” Dietrich frowned at him and Isaak simply snorted and shook his head then removed his moist finger from the glass. A drop of the brandy fell into the bowl of the teen’s navel as Isaak moved his hand toward the apex of Dietrich’s thighs. He tensed up in anticipation of where the man’s touch would light and a quiet whimper danced on his throat when Isaak’s finger breached him, slowly inching its way inside.  
  
Isaak’s eyes hooded as the warmth of Dietrich’s body trapped his finger and he lowered his head to lap the drop of brandy from the boy’s navel. Dietrich’s fist curled around the bedding and his bent knee fell to the mattress, opening him up for the mage’s ministrations, his other hand tangling in yards of jet black hair. “Oh God,” he breathed then drew another breath through his teeth as Isaak’s finger began moving in and out of him. A section of raven hair fell around Dietrich’s cock, caressing the length in feather-light teases and Isaak curled his tongue back into his mouth as he lifted his gaze to the half-shut eyes above. He stilled his finger and slowly pulled it out then took another sip of his drink. Dietrich watched him slide two fingers into his mouth and he could smell the sweet liquor that enveloped the digits. Isaak winked at the boy and carefully pushed them into Dietrich, the sounds coming from above shooting straight to his cock.  
  
Dietrich’s jaw set against the discomfort, his head tipped back and he sighed a string of incoherent mumbles that broke for a cry when Isaak’s mouth clamped over a pebbled nipple. The boy’s flesh tasted so good and Isaak quietly growled around the hardened nub, sending his cool tongue around it. He nicked the bud with one of his fangs and Dietrich’s hand tightened in his hair. The mage pulled back to see the tiny cut well with a drop of bright blood and with a knowing smile, Isaak’s fingers parted inside the teen as he licked the tear from his protégé’s chest.  
  
The singular taste of virgin blood drew a purr from the magician and his fingers curled upward to rub against Dietrich’s prostate. Slender hips arched and Dietrich let out a high-pitched yowl, exposing the enticing column of his pale throat. “Mmm.. like that, ja?” Isaak drawled and rolled his eyes downward to see a heavy drop of precome bead on the head of the boy’s cock. It snaked over the curvature and wended its way down the shaft. “So very wet,” he whispered and removed his fingers from Dietrich to run the pads along the underside, gathering the moisture there.  
  
Dietrich sucked in a quiet breath, wishing Isaak would wrap his hand around him– like he did in his phantasies. His musings were cut short when the raven introduced three digits inside him and Dietrich screwed his eyes shut. It was painful and sort of embarrassing, knowing Isaak was watching his every move. His hand carded through the magician’s hair and stilled against the mattress, several strands spiderwebbing between his fingers. “Relax, childe,” Isaak’s velvet voice soothed and Dietrich took a deep breath, feeling the muscles in his passage loosen somewhat. He knew it would be worse once Isaak entered him and for a moment, he tipped his head back to take another full breath.  
  
When the teen glanced down again, he met darkened eyes that sat above a disconcerting grin and Dietrich’s body reacted. His nipples peaked and gooseflesh raced down his abdomen, well-aware that the look Isaak shot him could mean anything. His lips parted for shallow breaths and he observed the way his mentor’s tongue glided smoothly over sharp incisors to disappear into the dark of his mouth. “Ohhh,” Dietrich sighed, the elation growing and drawing out as Isaak massaged his prostate. “Ohhgodno…” One hand fisted in the sheets and the other clamped around the hand that held the snifter, Dietrich panted. His hand raised from Isaak’s to take hold of the shoulder above it, his nails pressing firmly into skin. “Stop..Isaakimgonnacome!” he blurted and threw his head back as he did.  
  
Isaak stilled his fingers as the boy rode out his orgasm, a pleased purr vibrating on his throat. “Hinreißend,” he murmured to himself and sat up on his hip, releasing Dietrich from delicious torment. Isaak lifted the glass to finish off the rest of the brandy and with a hand, gathered his hair at the nape of his neck then let it fall into place. He smiled down at the redhead and took a moment to look on him, much like one would view a particularly stirring painting.  
  
The magician leaned over to set the empty glass on the table then drew the pad of a finger through the sticky mess on Dietrich’s chest. His own cock was aching to feel the heat the boy’s body had promised and Isaak moved to kneel between Dietrich’s legs. Eyes lazily opened to trail down the raven’s chest. Dietrich wanted to trace the thin line of hair that sat beneath Isaak’s navel, through the well-trimmed patch at the base of his cock and over the length itself. God, it was gonna hurt, he reasoned and began worrying his lower lip. But when Dietrich saw Isaak’s hand wipe along his stomach then wrap around the turgid shaft, he thought he’d die. He was using his come to lubricate himself; which had to rate in the top five of the hottest things the redhead had ever seen.  
  
Isaak lowered and the touch of skin on skin seduced a pleased sound from his throat that twisted into a hushed snort when he saw the teen chewing on his lip. “Are we afraid, little one?” he breathed into Dietrich’s ear, a hand petting along the youth’s flank. His lips toyed with Dietrich’s earlobe. “Pleasure and pain are but two sides of the same coin. To experience one, you must endure the other, boy,” he whispered and kissed the soft skin then fitted a hand between them to guide himself.  
  
Isaak’s pace was deliberate; to both draw out the pleasure of Dietrich’s tightness around him and to conduct the lovely sounds the teen made into an orchestra of new-found ecstasy. Dietrich’s eyes clamped shut when he was penetrated and he turned his head to bury his cries in the side of the pillow. Two of the mage’s fingers brought his head around again and he waited until Dietrich bared his gaze, stilling his hips. “ ‘The mark of rank in nature is capacity for pain, And the anguish of the singer marks the sweetness of the strain.’– Williams,” Isaak quoted as liquid eyes met his own.  
  
Dietrich’s hands fit around the curvature of his mentor’s shoulders and he gulped a hasty breath. “It hurts, Meister,” he whimpered and Isaak lips feathered along a smooth cheek. His hand travelled along Dietrich’s outer thigh to hook the limb behind his knee.  
  
“I know,” he whispered and lifted the boy’s knee, trapping it against his shoulder and locking his arm. A quick kiss was delivered to Dietrich’s cheek and Isaak pushed forward until he was fully seated inside his protégé, a subvocal sigh bubbling deep in his throat. Dietrich’s nails pressed into Isaak’s shoulders and a single tear breached long lashes to wend its way into the hair at his temple. The tip of Isaak’s nose meandered down from the teen’s cheek to bury into cinnamon hair and he inhaled the scent of innocense lost. It intoxicated him and added to the sensation of impossible heat that clamped his cock like a vice. If he didn’t get himself under control, it would be a short and disappointing ride. His exhale warmed the side of Dietrich’s throat and Isaak discarded the ardent want to fuck him into next week– there would be time enough for that. For now, he wanted to hear more of the delicious cries that bulleted from the redhead’s parted lips.  
  
Isaak tipped his chin up in time to see the tear that snaked across the teen’s face and the tip of his tongue rescued it from Dietrich’s hairline. The saline drop melted along the muscle and a quiet litany of praise left his lips. They then claimed their like as he backstroked and thrust forward, the boy’s whimpers fervently devoured. He broke the impromptu kiss and eyes hooded when Dietrich’s head tipped back, each of his exhales punctuated by a keening moan that drove Isaak. The teen’s breath had gone shallow and on a particularly harsh thrust, his reawakened cock pushed firmly against Isaak’s firm abdomen. “Oh _God_!” he blurted and quickly learned to roll his hips upward with each stroke to gain friction. When he tried it, the angle brought the head of Isaak’s dick slamming into his prostate and Dietrich’s nails burned red moons into the mage’s shoulders that then departed to scratch down the V of his back. “Meister!” the boy groaned, his other knee bending to plant his foot on the mattress, next to Isaak’s undulating hip.  
  
The raven lowered to rest on his forearms, his hands curling beneath Dietrich to take hold of his shoulders and he picked up the pace. His chin pushed the teen’s head to the side and he dragged the points of his fangs along the pale expanse of throat and neck, evoking more of the delicious sounds that freely spilled from his protégé. “Please…” Dietrich moaned and his eyes for a moment fell out of focus. He swallowed the pint of phlegm beneath his tongue and gasped for his next breath, his orgasm hovering in the peripheral. “More…”  
  
Isaak ached to pierce the fragile flesh of Dietrich’s throat, to take his fill of the boy– both body and soul– but he would wait. He could scent the sweet tang of sex-charged blood that furiously pumped beneath the skin which translated itself to a palpable throb in his cock. Was he so willing to ingest the carnal toxin that waited for him in those delicate veins? Grey eyes rolled upward to witness Dietrich passing his tongue along his lower lip, the erotic blush of youth tinting his cheeks and Isaak concluded his brief musing with a resounding: “Yes,” he purred to the vision and a hand slipped out from under Dietrich’s shoulder to forcefully push the boy’s head to the side, baring his neck. Fingers glided over the teen’s cheek and down over his throat as Isaak stared.  
  
Dietrich felt his head being held down and his arms bent around Isaak’s back to hold his shoulders. “Isaak, I…”  
  
“Come for me, boy!” the mage growled and his arm dropped to the pillow, its hand fisting the locks at the crown of Dietrich’s head. Isaak’s lips parted for a dark grin as Dietrich’s nails again scored his back, benign protests peppering the teen’s breathy moans to be fucked. “Now!” Isaak commanded and snapped his hips, nailing his protégé’s hotspot and Dietrich loosed a vociferous cry as he came. As the boy orgasmed, Isaak reared back and bit him. Blood flowed over his tongue and the taste was divine, drawing him closer to his completion and when Dietrich clamped down on him in his rigour, Isaak growled his release. His breath rushed from his nostrils as he drank and his hand loosened its vice-like hold in the teen’s hair.  
  
Dietrich’s heart raced and his arms dropped from around his mentor’s back. The way Isaak lapped at his neck and the soft sounds he made as he drank, lulled the youth into catatonia. “Heilige Scheiße...” he murmured and caramel eyes grew heavy. Isaak withdrew from him completely and licked Dietrich’s neck then rolled onto his back next to him, propping an arm above himself on the pillow. The blood he’d ingested spread a warmth through Isaak’s body; it had been so long since he’d tasted something so sweet. He licked his lips of the last vestiges and schooled his heartrate, deciding his boy was well worth the wait.  
  
Isaak looked askance at Dietrich and watched his chest rise and fall with breath, an asinine grin on the redhead's face. One of Dietrich's hands idly trailed through the sticky leavings of his orgasm and a thin black brow arched as Isaak observed him inspecting his soiled fingers. Dilated eyes rolled to meet Isaak’s gaze and the teen dared to lick one of his fingertips, tasting himself. The magician’s eyes narrowed and he snorted. “Knock it off.” His caveat tepid at best, and a lazy arm lifted through the air as if it were mud, pointing toward the door. “Go get in the tub, Dietrich,” Isaak ordered and when he finally heard the sound of water running, he sat up, propped by elbows locked behind him. The way Dietrich’s narrow ass crossed the room like nothing happened painted a smirk on the raven’s face. There were no leavings of the boy’s neurostings that he could detect but he knew he’d been expertly played. Isaak shook his head then lit a cigarillo and tipped his head back to release the smoke heavenward with a quiet chuckle. It was all absurd and as he acknowledged his own hand in the indoctrination of this beautiful devil, Isaak headed toward the ensuite, quite prepared to join the lascivious monster he’d created. 


End file.
